


All the lies we tell (to eat the cake and to keep it)

by StoriesbyNessie



Series: All the lies we tell (to eat the cake and to keep it) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Ron Weasley, Bisexual Ron Weasley, Depression, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Infidelity, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Ron Weasley, Parent attachment issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesbyNessie/pseuds/StoriesbyNessie
Summary: Draco knows Ron won't change. It doesn't stop him from hoping.Ron knows it's wrong too. So wrong.But then again, everything fucking is.A heavily angsty and dark story, but there will be a HEA, I promise.This story directly follows the prologue To eat the cake (and to keep it).
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: All the lies we tell (to eat the cake and to keep it) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626127
Comments: 29
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

_Present day, June._

**_The most dangerous lies are the lies you tell yourself_ **

Ron’s chest rose and fell in an even rhythm next to Draco in bed. Clothes were scattered all over the soft, carpeted floor, leaving a telling trail of what they had done. Ron’s Auror’s robes were tossed in one corner, his dirty dragon skin boots in another. Then followed trousers, socks, belts, boxers, shirts… before it all ended by the feet of the bed. They were both stark naked; Draco’s body ached from having Ron’s hands on him earlier, gripping and groping every inch he could find. The hour was late and the stillness in his dim bedroom should have been soothing. It wasn’t. Draco couldn’t relax, couldn’t give in to the tiredness currently residing in his body. He turned to his right and watched Ron’s peaceful, sleeping face, eyes raking over freckles, lines and wrinkles in the pale skin. He paid attention to every little detail, noticing how Ron had more freckles on his nose than anywhere else. They seemed to gather on the tip, fighting for space, then going across the nose in both directions, continuing down his cheeks. The blush from the sex they’d had was still visible there even though it had been thirty minutes, at least, since it ended. Then were the lines. The wrinkles. Some were from laughter, some from time.

They had a year left until they turned thirty, yet Ron seemed to have aged a lot the last three years. He looked older than twenty-nine. Draco noticed the dark, purplish circles under his eyes.

Sleep deprivation.

_Stress._

Draco wanted to reach out and touch. Ron’s red lips were still slightly swollen from kissing, the bottom lip chapped. He had a tiny cut in the right corner of his mouth. His eyelids were lilac. His red hair was tousled, fringe stuck to one coppery brow. Something twitched inside Draco when he looked at him.

Which was ridiculous.

He refrained from touching.

_He’s not really yours._

Weasley may come here on the regular, but fucking Granger was the one he’d married. Draco absolutely despised her. He had always despised that woman, but now he loathed her more than ever. He loathed her all the way down to the wedding band on Ron’s left ring finger. Draco always tried to avoid looking at it and pretend Weasley’s wife and children didn’t exist. In his bedroom with the expensive dark interior or in the rest of his large flat, they didn’t.

It was supposed to have been just sex. Draco knew what he was getting into when they got involved with each other.

For a while, it was okay too. It was good. Then Draco realised he was in hell. Especially when he saw Ron smile. When he saw him laugh. When he felt him. When he took his breath away. When they breathed the same air just an inch from each other…

_Stop it. He’s not really yours._

As he watched Ron sigh in his sleep and he moved a little, Draco decided he had enough. He turned in the bed so his back was facing Ron. It took a few seconds, which seemed like a lifetime, until Ron’s arm unexpectedly curled around Draco’s waist and Draco felt the warmness of Ron’s body against his own. It comforted him more than he would have liked to admit. Ron snuggled up close and buried his face in the nape of Draco’s neck. The coppery stubble on his chin was itching him.

“I know you stare at me,” Ron whispered tiredly. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Shouldn’t you be going?” Draco hated how his voice sounded at the question. It sounded… _whiny._ But it was getting close to midnight. The clock on the wall opposite the bed quietly ticked closer and closer to a new day. Ron never stayed. He was usually always in a hurry.

_In a hurry to get home to her._

“What, thought you wanted me here.” Draco felt exasperated at the slightly amused tone in Ron’s voice. In fact, he could almost feel him smile.

“You never stay.”

Ron sighed and started placing kisses along Draco’s white skin.

“Thought I’d stay tonight…” he said in the low voice that always made Draco weak and trembling. “It’s your birthday…”

_Yes, Weasley. State the obvious._

Draco turned to lie on his back. When he did so, Ron seized his chance to climb on top of him. Their bodies pressed together, chest against chest, belly against belly, groin against groin… Draco could feel everything. Ron had too long toe nails, which was hurting him a little. Overall though, Ron was enjoyably heavy, despite the difficulty Draco had to breathe with his weight on him. In the not-quite-darkness of his bedroom, he could see Ron smile slightly when their eyes locked into each other’s.

Ron’s eyes were so fucking blue. Draco didn’t need light to know that they were. They were like the ocean, or the sky on a happy, lazy summer’s day when not a cloud was in sight. Draco caught himself wanting to drown in them. Something danced in them when Ron was happy and they always darkened when he was angry or sad.

When they were children growing up to learn to hate each other, Draco always hated Ron’s eyes. Of course, back then, he hated everything about the red-haired boy in the hand-me-down-clothes, who grew up in the countryside and lacked both table manners and money. He had always found excuses to hate Weasley. He had too many freckles. He couldn’t play Quidditch. He was a Muggle-infatuated blood traitor. Probably a little in love with Potter, too.

If somebody told Draco when they were both in school together that he on his twenty-ninth birthday would lie like this in bed with Weasley on top of him, who was smiling and kissing his nose, Draco would probably hexed them. But here he was now in exactly that position, letting himself be kissed by the same red-haired boy, now grown into a man. It was a strange thing, how it all had turned out.

“Hope it’s okay…” Ron continued in the same hushed voice, “Need to go early tomorrow morning though…” He sleepily captured Draco’s lips in another warm, lazy kiss and rolled his hips a little, which sent waves of want through Draco’s body despite him feeling both knackered and spent. Draco buried his fingers in Ron’s red curls, marvelling over how soft his hair always was. He watched Weasley’s eyes slip shut as they continued to kiss, the air sticky and warm in the tiny space between them. Draco’s hands moved over the redhead’s back, across the surprisingly soft skin and he wondered to himself how many freckles he had there. Ron angled his head to the side, to get into a better position for kissing, and Draco’s mind drifted away from the freckles on Ron’s pale skin, to tiny freckled faces and ginger hair. A pair of blue eyes much like Ron’s. Another set of brown, similar to Granger’s. Ron was the father of two children. His daughter was two years and his son nine months old.

_You didn’t just have your second kid, Weasley. You’re lying._

Suddenly Draco felt disgusted.

“Weasley, get off me.”

Surprised, Ron moved. He remained close however, sharing pillow with Draco. With his weight not on top of him anymore, Draco felt like a piece was missing. He didn’t feel whole.

He hated himself for it.

_You’re not supposed to have those kinds of feelings._

“Don’t they miss you?”

Draco never spoke their names. Ron didn’t either. Under Draco’s roof, names were reduced to _her_ and _them._

“There’s a workshop I have to be at tomorrow,” Ron said. “For my job. I’m supposed to be at the hotel right now, but I decided… I wanted to come here instead. Be with you.”

“What if Potter tells her that you’re not there? If she goes looking for you?”

“She won’t.”

Ron never talked much whenever Draco brought this up. He avoided the subject as much as he could and if Draco said or asked anything, he always kept his answers short. Or, he closed up like a clam. Got angry.

They lay together in silence. After a few minutes, Draco felt Ron snuggle closer again, burying his long nose in the crook of Draco’s neck.

“Tired…” Ron breathed. “Long day… Shit day.”

“You should go back to sleep then.”

Draco felt Ron nod, his hair tickled as he did so. Ron’s hair smelt faintly of burning timbers. Draco didn’t ask why. He simply lay still in the dark, feeling the other man relax once again, against him. He started snoring a little, but Draco didn’t push him away. He gazed up to the ceiling, body tense while restless thoughts ran through his mind.

Three years.

Draco didn’t know how much more he could take.

**___________________________**

_Three years earlier, October_

**_The worst kind of sad is not being able to explain why._ **

“Go to sleep… Please, why the _fuck_ won’t you go to sleep? Just fucking sleep!”

The ginger-haired baby in Ron’s arms had been crying for three solid hours. She was red-faced and angry, no matter what Ron did, his daughter wouldn’t calm down. Her loud screaming was hurting his ears, his arms ached from carrying her around and his eyes were red-rimmed from the crying he’d done on his own.

“WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!” He shouted helplessly at her to which the baby responded with more crying.

Rose was two months old and Ron was certain she hated him. She always cried whenever he handled her, always content in her mother’s arms. It made Ron insecure and angry, he was scared of her, not knowing what she fucking wanted. Why didn’t babies come with a bloody manual?!

“Mummy isn’t here you little shit! You’ll have to deal with me!”

Ron yelled louder. The child got quiet, momentarily startled, before she broke out in high-pitched cries again.

A pang of guilt hit his chest hard like a Bludger.

“Shh…” he whispered into her baby-scented red locks. “I’m sorry for yelling. _Sweetheart…”_ The murmured words were drowned by the child’s screams.

There was no use.

Ron felt utterly defeated as he surrendered, summoning his Patronus.

_I can’t do this._

It took twenty minutes, but when Ginny finally showed up, Ron wanted to throw his arms around her. He had never been more relieved seeing his little sister. However, he was still carrying Rose who screamed frantically, so all he managed when Ginny showed her face was looking something between terrified, desperate and gratified.

“Ron, what the hell?” Ginny frowned on the threshold of the sitting room, eyes going from Ron, the baby and the mess the room currently was in. Things were scattered everywhere: bottles, wipes, blankets, nappies… The table was turned over too.

“Ginny, please,” Ron breathed from the far end of the long room. He stood by the window, knees wobbling, almost collapsing. He was dead on his feet. “I can’t do this, I need help. She needs a woman. I think.”

_She needs her mum. She fucking needs her mum._

He didn’t want to say that Rose hated him. She _must_ hate him anyway. There was no other explanation.

Ginny was in front of him in a flash, grabbing baby Rose from him and holding her tightly over her shoulder. She placed a delicate hand on the back of the baby’s head to support her, the other on the tiny bottom.

“Shhh… It’s okay, darling, auntie’s here now…Ron, where’s her dummy?”

“I don’t know!” Ron whispered in panic. His hair was standing in all directions and he was dizzy.

Ginny shook her head and sighed. Rose was still crying. She stroked her back, whispered soothingly to her while walking across the sitting room, eyes scanning for the dummy she had requested. She found it lying underneath a grey cushion in the sofa. Ginny picked it up and stuck it into the small child’s mouth. Rose took it and began sucking.

“How long has she been crying?” Ginny asked when Rose had quieted enough for them to have a conversation in a normal tone.

“Couple of hours… She wants her mum.”

_She always fucking does._

“So where’s Hermione, then?” Ginny looked at him, worried, her brown eyes large. Ron knew that she knew but asked anyway. This wasn’t the first time.

He shook his head. Ginny opened her mouth to say something but right then Rose started crying again, having momentarily been calmed down by the pacifier.

“Have you fed her? Do you have any bottles in the fridge? I think she might be hungry…”

A half hour later, Rose was fed and slept soundlessly in Ginny’s arms. They were still in the sitting room. Ron had left them alone and was out on the balcony, sitting on the cold concrete floor and smoking what he believed was the third cigarette of the evening. He felt nauseated, given he couldn’t remember when he last ate and his head throbbed. He trembled; it was bloody cold out. He shouldn’t be sitting out here without a coat or cloak or something to warm him. He didn’t have his wand to cast a heating charm either.

As if she could read his mind, Ginny soon appeared by the glass door. She had a blanket in her hands and he shot her a weak, grateful smile.

“I put Rose down in the cot,” she informed him when she stepped out, sitting down next to him and pulled the blanket around them both. Then she frowned when she saw what he was holding. “Since when are you a smoker?”

“I’m not,” Ron said quickly, stubbing the cigarette out against the balcony rail. Then he tossed it over the edge before turning to her. “Thank you, by the way. Dunno what I’d do without you. Rose would still be crying, that’s for sure.” He stared blankly into the October night. No stars in the sky. Ginny squeezed his arm.

“This needs to stop. I can’t keep coming over, Ron just cause you can’t handle your own child. And you need to either sort things out with Hermione or get a divorce. Where is she?”

“The fuck should I know.” He put his face in his hands. He could feel the familiar burn behind his eyelids and knew he wasn’t far from starting to cry.

_You can’t cry in front of your sister._

Ron didn’t know what to tell Ginny that she didn’t already know. They had been over this before. It was always the same: Hermione and Ron had a fight, she stormed off for hours at the time and he never knew where she was, he was left with a baby who screamed her head off at the mere sight of him and he struggled for hours before finally giving in and sending a Patronus to his sister. It was good to have Ginny, she was female and babies seemed to have some sixth fucking sense towards women. That’s what it felt like at least.

Ginny leant her head against his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, you know. Maybe you should go to mum and dad’s for a few days?”

“No, wouldn’t do any good,” Ron said, looking up. He pulled a face. He could already hear their mother’s voice in his mind. She would want to know what _he_ had done wrong this time that had his wife in tears and their baby upset.

_Yeah, because it’s always my fucking fault. No matter what happens._

Having a newborn should have been the happiest time in their lives. Rose was planned and wanted. They were twenty-six years old; it was about time they started a family. Ron had longed for her, or at least, that was what he had thought. When she was born, and they were in the hospital and the Mediwitch held her up to him, smiling and presenting the baby as his _daughter_ and he saw the blue eyes and vivid red hair… He didn’t feel it. The instant joy. All colour had drained from his face during that moment and he had felt like he was going to faint.

His first thought was that she was ugly. She looked like a wrinkly, reddish alien with a too large head. When he took her in his arms from the smiling Mediwitch, his daughter had felt like an unfamiliar weight that didn’t belong there.

 _’She looks like you…’_ Hermione had sighed happily from the bed in the hospital room. _’I’ve read somewhere babies look like their fathers at first so the fathers could bond with their children. Recognise them as theirs…’_

 _’Am I this ugly?’_ Ron had asked, shocked. Hermione had only laughed then and taken the baby from his arms. She thought he had been joking.

Hermione had looked so blissful holding their child. Like this was the moment she had been waiting for all her life. Ron had muttered something about wanting to get some air.

He had stepped out from the room, closing the door carefully behind him. His pulse had been high and he had felt stressed out, not sure whether he wanted to run home and hide, puke or pass out. The Mediwitch that had been in their room holding up the baby to him, _his_ baby, was in the corridor too.

 _’Am I supposed to feel like this?’_ He’d blurted to her before he could stop himself. _’Am I supposed to feel this… this…’_

 _’Scared?’_ She had offered with a small smile. _’It’s normal, Mr Weasley, I assure you. It’s terrifying becoming a parent. Everyone goes through that. But soon everything will fall into place, and you get to know your child.’_

He had nodded silently. But he must have looked like shit, because she walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder as if providing some sort of comfort.

 _’Look, I know it must feel strange. I imagine it must be weird being a father. We women carry the children for nine months; we develop a relationship to them pretty early on while they are still tiny embryos. It’s different for men. But I know it will be all right, especially once you get home and get settled in a familiar environment. Hospitals are a bit weird.’_ She had winked _. ’I can give you some pamphlets on parenting if you’d like?’_

Ron had shaken his head. _’No, it’s okay. I, uh, I figure it out. Probably… Thanks though.’_

 _’Let me know if you need anything.’_ She had said, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. Ron had gone out then, breathing in the faint late summer’s air. Rose had been born in the middle of the night in August. It was light out and he could hear the birds already chirping in the distance. A scent of flowers hung in the air too.

When he came back, his mother had been there, hovering over the hospital bed, cooing over her grandchild.

_’Oh, look at that. She’s just beautiful. She looks just like Charlie did, when he was a baby…’_

Ron had felt his whole world shatter at the words.

_She looks just like Charlie._

_She looks just like Charlie._

_She looks just like Charlie._

_She isn’t mine._

Not that Ron thought Hermione was sleeping with his brother. He knew she didn’t. Nonetheless, the words from his mother had stung. It was as though she had confirmed his inner worries and fears that he hadn’t known he had. Ron had been so confused inside the sanitised room, it had just felt so overwhelming. After several hours of constant waiting and trying to be there for Hermione while she was in pain, it was suddenly all over and he, they, had that alien-like stranger together and he was convinced it was something wrong with him now because he didn’t feel _it._ The love. The sheer joy. And then when his mother said that Rose looked like Charlie… It had been a little much. But just like always, he had forced himself to smile and pretend the words hadn’t gotten to him. Nobody had seen his pain then and Ron knew they wouldn’t understand either.

He had tried telling himself back then too that it had only been a few hours and he would feel that happiness of becoming a dad soon, but it didn’t stop. Rose still felt like someone unknown when they got home, and now, two months in, that hadn’t changed. Everybody had congratulated him. Harry had clapped his back, grinned and said ’well done, mate. A daughter, that’s huge, Ron!’

Yeah.

_But why don’t I fucking feel it then?!_

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried. Ron really had. He had pushed himself in making an effort to get to know her, because she was his daughter for Merlin’s sake. He had wanted her just as much as Hermione.

Rose did all the usual baby stuff: eating, crying, crapping herself. Puking. But while doing all that, Ron quickly noticed how attached Rose was to her mother. Rose cried almost immediately when Ron tried holding her, which didn’t improve the bond he was desperately trying to have with her. Whenever he brought this up with Hermione, she just impatiently brushed it away like it was nothing.

_’For heaven’s sake, Ron, I’ve carried her for nine months! Babies are more attached to their mothers in the beginning. I’m a living safety and food machine for her; I breastfeed, which provides both food and comfort, she’s used to my heartbeat… We’ve read about this in the baby books!’_

Ron knew they had. Hermione had forced him to read with her, about the baby’s development in the womb week by week, all about babies development after they were born and he had come to every meeting with the Healer for Hermione’s pregnancy check-ups… Everything Hermione had wanted him to do, he had done. And now… Everyone kept telling him everything was so bloody normal all the time. Rose’s constant crying when Hermione wasn’t around was apparently just so. Normal.

Except she didn’t cry when others held her. When their families came over to see Ron and Hermione's child soon after they got home from the hospital, Rose seemed so content and happy in their arms. His mum had a good hand with children, considering she raised so many of them. It was no wonder Rose seemed so at peace when she held her. She didn’t say anything either when Bill held her and Percy, George, Ginny… Everyone. Eventually Charlie took her, rocking her like he had done nothing else than rocking babies in all his life. Their mother had sighed happily once she spotted that.

_’Oh, Charlie! You look perfect! When are you going to have children of your own, dear?’_

Charlie had only smirked before turning to Ron.

_’Congrats, little brother. She’s the spitting image of you.’_

_’Mum says she looks like you,’_ Ron had answered without thinking, almost wincing at the sour tone his voice had held. It had felt childish, and he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that. He didn’t want to _feel_ like that.

 _’Nah, mate,’_ Charlie had said, grinning. _’All you. She has your eyes.’_

Then Charlie gave her to Ron. It took two seconds. Then she fucking cried again.

_She hates me._

With babies came sleep deprivation, Ron found. With sleep deprivation came irritation. Irritation led to fighting. Ron and Hermione had always been good at pushing each other’s buttons ever since they were kids. It was fine, most of the time. Or, it used to be. But ever since Rose came into their lives, their fighting was ten times more bad than it used to be.

Hermione expected so much of him. She wanted him to clean, cook, buy groceries, help with Rose… Ron tried his best doing everything, being there for her. She had squeezed out their baby, she needed rest. He was the other parent, it was self-explanatory he should be there and help out; Rose was as much his child as hers. He _wanted_ to do everything right with every ounce of his being.But it was as though nothing he did was good enough for her. She didn’t like the way he cleaned their flat. He missed vacuuming a spot. He didn’t put the spatula back in the proper place. He forgot to buy things in the shop. He didn’t buy the _right_ things in the shop. It made him feel angry and like nothing he did mattered to her. She only saw faults and not his efforts. That he really fucking tried, so hard. She never said ’thank you’. Never showed that she was happy with anything he did. Never showed she cared about him.

Maybe he was being a whiny git. But Ron wanted to hear he was wanted, loved and appreciated. He wasn’t asking much. A warm smile, a hug, something. Instead, all they did was fight. Ron couldn’t help but snarl back when Hermione complained. It didn’t take long for them to start arguing after that. Hermione stormed off on the days it was really bad.

Some days he did that too. Or he was chucked out.

It was on one of those days he had walked into a random, small pub to drown his feelings of hurt and inadequacy with Firewhisky. Little did he know that it would lead to him having his life even more screwed up than it already was.

**___________________**

_Present day, June_

Draco didn’t know when he finally fell asleep. All he knew, as he bleary-eyed lifted his head from the pillow, was that Weasley stood before him putting on his dishevelled clothes back on his thin body. He could see his ribs stick out beneath the pale skin. Ron was so thin despite devouring food like no one else Draco had ever seen. Come to think of it, he seemed thinner than usual.

“Hey.” Ron’s face lit up once he noticed Draco was awake. He finished buttoning his creasy shirt before shuffling over to kiss him on the lips. “Slept well?”

Draco didn’t answer. The clock on the wall in front of him told it was six am. On a Saturday. He blinked, then groaned, letting his head fall back onto the soft pillow.

“It’s too early to wake up.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron muttered, sitting down beside him. “I need to go. The workshop thing I told you about.” He bent down to put on his socks. Draco watched his back from his lying position. Even with the shirt on he could see his spine through the thin material. He had seen Ron naked last night. Hell, he’d seen Ron naked a lot fairly often these days. He knew he was thin.

_I just never realised how thin._

Had he always been that?

“Weasley, you do eat well, right?”

Ron looked up from what he was doing, slightly bewildered. “Yeah, why?”

“You look a bit… underfed, that’s all.”

Ron was quiet for a moment, looking at him strangely. Then his face suddenly broke out in a wide grin and he actually started to laugh.

“You need your eyes checked, Malfoy.”

Draco scowled and sat up properly. “I’m serious,” he said, looking Ron in the eye. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Probably work. Been a lot to do lately.” Ron shrugged, his expression turning serious. “Besides…” he added, stopping what he was doing to kiss Draco’s cheek, “I love you and all, but we don’t really have that kind of relationship where we worry about each other like that, do we?” He chewed his lip. “I mean… we don’t really have a relationship.”

_So what is this then? What am I to you?_

_You said you loved me. Twice now._

Draco wanted to scream at him. Weasley seemed to have forgotten what subject they had briefly touched just last night. He knew there was no use reminding him. Not now.

Ron said things sometimes, then acted like nothing had happened.

_I want you to leave her and be with me._

_Cause Salazar knows, I do love you._

_I really, really, really fucking love you._

_You selfish bastard._

The words always seemed to get caught in his throat whenever he wanted to express them. He couldn’t say the three words back. He brushed away the wild, flaming red hair from Ron’s brow instead with gentle fingers.

Draco desperately wanted to freeze time so Ron could never leave.

_** To be continued...  ** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Hints of possible physical abuse (nothing confirmed).
> 
> A/N: This chapter has been amazingly beta'd by KoraKunkel. Thank you so so much for helping me out and saving me from what sometimes are hilarious mistakes. :D

**_A smile can hide the deepest pain_ **

_Present day, June_

Ron closed the front door to the expensive flat he had been to so many times before. He let his hand stroke over the shiny, dark brown wood and gave the door one last glance before descending the stairs to the front door of the main building. His steps echoed loudly in the stillness of the morning. The time was just half-past six; nobody was awake this early on a Saturday. Well, nobody decent, anyway.

Three years.

Coming and going to this very flat was a part of his routine now: just like eating, sleeping or going to work. It was almost disgusting how seamlessly it fit into his life. Who the hell was Ron kidding, it _was_ disgusting. For Godric’s sake, he was a family man! He should have ended this a long time ago. Instead, he had just buried himself deeper and deeper into more shit. His whole life consisted of lying and keeping up a good facade.

On the outside, the Granger-Weasley family was loving, caring and _good._ His children were healthy, and he and Hermione had things going for them with their careers. The house they’d moved into six months ago was modern and placed in one of the more expensive suburban neighborhoods. Ron was leading the life his adolescent self could only dream about when he was in school and he was married to the girl of his dreams. The too-tall red-haired idiot, who for sure would have died alone if she hadn’t wanted him, was married to miss book-smart and fucking greatest-witch-of-her-age. Rose was two and was already showing the brilliance only Hermione had. She would probably be just as outstanding when she was allowed to board the Hogwarts Express.

Ron’s life was perfect.

_They_ were perfect.

So, what the hell had gone so incredibly wrong?

The already bright sun hurt his eyes as he stepped outside into the early summer’s air. He was a bit hungover from the expensive wine he’d indulged in last night, before he had buried himself balls-deep in fucking Draco Malfoy. He shook his head and put a cigarette to the corner of his mouth, fumbling with the Muggle lighter. Hermione hated him smoking but Draco didn’t mind it. Ron could smoke as much as his heart desired when he was with him.

He could do anything when he was with him. Draco made him feel so damn free-spirited and Malfoy and free-spirited were two words that didn’t normally go together. Yet, he made Ron feel awesome. He made Ron feel like he mattered.

_I fucking love having his body pressed against my own._

Perfect pictures are always deceiving, Ron thought, as he made his way to the Apparition point. It’s never anything more than vicious lies.

***

Ron had always been a bad liar, so it was amazing how adept he had become at lying straight to his best friend’s smiling face. He lied without so much as a blush (which would most definitely have given him away) to Hermione on the regular, too - just another thing added to his daily routine. He hated himself and yet, it was so easy to say that he was working late or pretend to be going to the shop. Harry was an Auror too but they were never working on the same cases, so Ron could lie about work to Hermione without her really suspecting anything.

It wasn’t always completely lies either - being with the Aurors often provided long work hours. Ron just… snuck away sometimes. Thank Merlin for being a wizard and the ability to Apparate. He tried to never be gone for long though, never stayed at Draco’s longer than he should. Ron was always stressing, running, hiding, lying, and bending over backwards to try to please everyone he cared about.

The highs were worth all the pain and stress. If Draco was a drug, then Ron was an addict. He was always constantly torn, a part of him wanted to stop but another never wanted it to end. A third part, one that he tried very _very_ hard to ignore, wanted to leave his wife and run away with _him._

_Why the fuck did you tell him you love him?_

_Because I do. Three years. Merlin, I can’t_ **_not_ ** _feel anything like that when it’s been so long. Fuck, it’s birthdays now. And Christmas presents._

_But you’re not prepared to leave Hermione for him. You know he wants you to. He’s attached to you. But you keep putting it off and off, hoping he would forget next time._

_I can’t break up my own family. I just… can’t._

Ron’s hands shook when he got to the luxurious hotel room he was supposed to have slept in last night. It was on a Muggle street and the room was soft with a toned-down colour scheme in grey and beige. Surprisingly, the Ministry had really gone all out with the rooms; it was only for a weekend. Ron would be the only one staying in here but the room could fit at least three people more. He walked directly up to the bed and sat down by the edge of it, gently massaging his face with his trembling fingers. Good Godric, his head hurt. He had gotten more sleep last night than he had in a long time, yet he was still bone-tired and aching all over.

Three times last night. Ron snorted into his hands, he was getting too old for that much sex. Or maybe the tiredness was the glorious perk of working a lot and having tiny kids back at home.

_Keep that up and I might have to start napping midway through._

He knew he was using the physical, intimate activities to get away from his problems, too. Sex was so much easier than having to actually talk and face everything going on in his head. Ron wasn’t a talker. He preferred to keep everything buried deep within.

_Wasn’t that why he and Draco saw each other, really? To get off? That was what had been the original plan, anyway._

Ron sighed and checked his wristwatch. The meeting started at 8 am, he still had an hour left. He ran his hand through his red hair and flopped backwards onto the soft mattress. Kicking off his shoes, he propped up his legs so he was lying properly on the bed and closed his eyes. If Harry was to knock on the door, this bed needed to look slept in.

The memories of his and Draco’s debauched activities last night flashed before his eyes. If Ron concentrated really hard, he could almost feel the touches. Hear the sounds. Smell Draco’s scent...

_’I love you.’_

_Ron couldn’t stop the words getting out. He didn’t want to be pushed away; whatever Draco did, he couldn’t push him away. He wouldn’t be able to handle it well. Deep down, they probably both knew that. Ron knew he meant the words too._

_He pulled Draco close and hugged him from behind, his fingers gently caressing a warm, flat belly beneath an impeccable white shirt. Ron turned him around and without saying anything, he let his fingers trace the line of Draco’s jaw. He tilted his chin up gently, exposing his pale mouth and Ron moved his thumb to caress Draco’s bottom lip._

_“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Always were.”_

_Draco didn’t say anything, but Ron saw how he visibly swallowed. It entertained him a bit and knowing he was wanted always turned him on. He knew his blue eyes were dark with lust and anticipation already. He’d been waiting two weeks and heat pooled in his groin, leaving the rest of his body almost cold._

_“You stare,” Draco mumbled._

_It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Ron kissed him without stalling much longer. It was marvelling how easily Draco fell into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck and hid his face in Ron’s throat when they broke apart for air. Ron kissed the top of Draco’s head, his hands trailing down his back._

_“Sweetheart…” Ron said softly into Draco’s vanilla-scented hair. He instantly regretted the sweet nickname; it was something he maybe would’ve called Hermione during good moments. To make up for it, he fisted the fabric of Draco’s shirt and proceeded to yank it out of his trousers. He wanted to feel skin. He needed to feel skin._

_Draco lifted his head from Ron’s neck and clashed their lips together. Their mouths parted so easily for each other and their calm breathing turned into gasps and moans as they headed in the direction of Draco’s bedroom. Stumbling against the walls, clothing piece after clothing piece flew off as they became more and more eager. Ron’s skin prickled hot and cold as he moved his wide hand over Draco’s naked front, feeling the light hairs on his belly and teasingly pinching a dusk pink nipple when his hand moved up to his pale chest._

_“Barely ate today…” Draco breathed when Ron gently pressed him down on the bed, climbing right after to straddle him. Ron continued to kiss his mouth and down his neck, while Draco arched against him._

_“Uh-huh, and why’s that? You should eat.” Ron’s voice was muffled against Draco’s skin, busy kissing and biting softly down into the flesh as he was._

_“Because -shit Weasley- b-because I thought…”_

_Ron’s head flew up. He didn’t need to ask._

_“Oh, fuck you,” he hissed, his stomach clenching with want. He ground his hips against Draco’s slender body and let Draco squeeze the firm skin behind his shoulders. “Not that I’m complaining,” Ron said, licking and biting the shell of Draco’s ear, “but you can’t skip meals every time you want me to fuck you.”_

_“Just do it, you idiot,” Draco answered, pressing his naked body against Ron’s._

_Ron was so dizzy; he was barely aware of when both of them had lost all their damn clothes. He groaned and kept pushing his hips, Draco answered with his own. They moved in unison until Draco got impatient and Accioed the lube from his bedside drawer. They kept kissing while Ron slicked up his fingers and pushed them inside Draco’s tight hole. There were spells, but there was something so sexy about doing it without magic. Heliked how Draco’s body responded to the filthy touches; never in a million years would Ron have thought he would get to experience something like this. Attraction to other men was something he had hidden for far too long, but during these last three years, he had learnt so much. He wasn’t sure if he would ever enjoy fucking another bloke in the same way he enjoyed fucking Draco, though._

_His fingers moved in and out: first one, then two, then three. Draco’s face screwed up in pain before he got used to Ron’s finger playing inside him.He momentarily relaxed until another was pressed in together with the first. Ron peppered his sweaty face with small, comforting kisses. When Draco was ready, Ron slicked up his hardened cock and proceeded to push inside. He enjoyed how tight Draco felt around him and he groaned again as he felt skinny legs wrap around his body. He stilled for a moment to let Draco adjust under him, then he started to move. Carefully at first, but almost immediately he got rough, knowing Draco would be able to handle it._

_Draco was always able to handle it._

_“Weasley…” Draco’s voice sounded strangled and the room was so bloody warm._

_Their bodies burned like fire. Ron felt Draco shudder against him and cry out as Ron realised he must have touched on that sweet spot that always made him sound like he was about to choke on something. It was insanely hot and Ron felt Draco’s hand slide down between them to stroke his own cock, pressing against Ron’s belly._

_Ron couldn’t help his breathy chuckle and filthy grin as he purposely kept hitting that spot again and again. Draco’s grey eyes were glazed over, his light hair darkened from sweat at his temples. He chanted Ron’s last name over, and over, and over, panting heavily until they both were pushed over the edge._

_Ron’s ears were ringing, he knew he was moaning loudly but he could barely hear it. With a last jerk of his hips, he emptied himself deep within Draco, eventually slipping out without any real effort. It hadn’t lasted for long, but he wasn’t disappointed. They had all night._

_“Fuck, you’re so damn intense,” he muttered and gave Draco a smile, his heart still racing from the orgasm and his body slightly shaking as he rolled off him to lay next to him instead. “So damn intense.”_

**___________________**

_Three years earlier, November_

**_I hate who I am._ **

**_I hate everything about me._ **

For once, it was fucking snowing.

This was England. It rarely snowed. So why the hell did it have to snow _now_?

Ron was freezing. He’d left home without his coat and the temperature was below zero. His teeth clattered and he rubbed his red chequered shirt-clad arms to try to get some warmth into his body. He walked on the snowy ground, not sure of where to go. It was dark out - a cloudless night with lots of stars.

He looked up to them and suddenly remembered that he was a fucking wizard and there were spells to keep him warm. Luna Lovegood had once taught him a very usable heating charm that might provide a bit of warmth now until he found somewhere to stay the night. Ron looked around to make sure he was truly alone in the empty street, before he picked up his wand, pointed it to himself and muttered the spell.

In mere seconds, his body started to react to the charm as it wrapped around him like an invisible blanket. It would last him for about an hour.

Ron walked aimlessly; there was nowhere he could go without people asking him questions. His mother would clip him round the ear if he showed up at the Burrow. She would instantly know because she always fucking knew. She would blame him. Harry and Ginny wouldn’t take sides, but Ron couldn’t handle their pleading eyes or hearing how he needed to think about his daughter. She was a baby now, but she could sense when things weren’t good. Ginny kept saying that all the time, which made Ron feel worse than he already did.

Ron couldn’t remember what had brought this on. He just knew Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously when she said, in a trembling voice, that he had two choices: either walk out willingly or she would throw him out. Ron had chosen the first option, but he had been so angry, he had forgotten his coat.

They had been screaming at each other earlier that night, though. It had started small and then gotten bigger and bigger until all they did was hurt one another.A part of him wanted to run back home and wrap his arms around her and say how sorry he was but another part was still very much shaking with anger. He balled his hands into fists and kicked up some snow in front of him with his shoe. Ron cursed when he almost slipped on a patch of ice.

_Just fucking perfect._

Harry had always said Ron and Hermione were intense with each other. Ron had always been hot-headed and he and Hermione had always been good at having arguments. Their spats were usually small and over quickly, but it had never been this bad as it was now. Ginny often asked Ron to either fix it or end things. They couldn’t carry on the way they did now and Ron understood that.

_But things aren’t always like this. Sometimes they’re really fucking good. Well, mostly it is. It’s not really that bad, truth be told. Even if I’m currently out giving myself bloody pneumonia._

He wanted to scream.

***

Draco pressed his forehead to the bar counter. It felt cool and nice against his skin. He closed his eyes. He knew the owner and he wouldn’t care if Draco fell asleep right here, right now.

He was almost alone in the small, dark pub. It was beyond his Malfoy standards, which was the whole point with coming here. Everything was mismatched, and dirty and grungy and he loved it. He would be alone, absolutely not caring he would be around the common folk, the peasants of the Wizarding world. As a young boy, he would have cared. Things clearly had changed now.

_If Father saw me he’d throw a fit._

“Rough night?” A voice next to him asked. It was dark, male and somewhat familiar, although Draco couldn’t place where he had heard it before.

He didn’t answer but the voice didn’t seem to mind. Draco heard the sound of a bar stool scraping against the floor as the body belonging to the voice sat down beside him.

“Yeah, well, I know how you feel, mate. My night’s been shit too,” the voice continued.

Draco _had_ to look up, now. He lifted his head from the bar counter and looked to his right, there was a flash of red hair and a rather tall figure underneath it. His drunken mind silently betted there would be freckles too. Ginger hair like this wasn’t common and there was only one family in the British Wizarding World with such distinct features.

Surely enough, he soon looked into a set of very blue eyes. They were twenty-six, yet Ron had such boyish features he still looked like he was sixteen.

“Been a long time since I last saw your face, Weasley. Still poor?” Draco arched a pale eyebrow.

“Well, I hear you’re still a complete arse anyway,” Ron said. “The hell are you doing here?” He looked a bit puzzled. Draco was too, he’d barely seen Weasley since they left school. But Draco was a better actor, better at hiding his emotions.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said coolly. His eyes fell on the golden wedding band Ron had on his left ring finger. He arched an eyebrow at his finger, “You’re married? Granger, I presume?”

Ron didn’t answer. He stared moodily in front of him.

_Okay, then._

Draco chuckled, drumming his fingers against the counter. “You’re in trouble, I see. Problems in paradise?”

Ron gave him a sharp look. His lips were firmly pressed together and he didn’t answer. His eyes then fell on Draco’s pale arm. Draco had rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbows earlier that night because it was warm in the pub. He mentally slapped himself, he shouldn’t have done that.

“That’s a nasty bruise,” Ron told him, his eyes moving over Draco’s arm, where a large, dark purple bruise was taking shape. “Who gave you that?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“Okay, be like that then.” Ron sighed and turned his gaze in front of him instead. His eyes were narrowed and the skin on his neck slightly flushed. He was angry; Draco could almost touch the anger radiating from Ron’s body.

Draco watched his profile, cocking his head to the side. “Aren’t you going to buy yourself something to drink?”

Ron gave him another sharp look. “I don’t know. I’m poor, remember?” He said pointedly.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you something then. You clearly need it.”

“I’ll pay you in cigarettes.”

Draco shook his head. “I’m not a smoker, Weasley.”

Ron gave him a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Too fancy, are you?”

“I care about my health, unlike you.”

“Why? We’re all dying anyway,” Ron snorted.

“You must be fun to be married to,” Draco said sarcastically and after that, the conversation died out. He bought Weasley several drinks as the evening progressed.

The man definitely needed it.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Before I might get yelled at in the comments lol, I love Ron. Writing him like this, portraying him as a bad guy, is not something I enjoy. I do not consider him a bad guy in this story either, despite that it's pretty obvious he lies and goes behind his family's back to be with Draco. I see him as a man who is lost in life and deals with a lot of issues. This plot is very fascinating to me, but it's definitely the start of one of my darkest and saddest stories I've written as of now.


End file.
